


a thousand diamonds

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Honeymoon, M/M, One Shot, The Boys are happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: the boys go on their honey moon.





	a thousand diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> “You have me. Until the last star in the galaxy dies, you have me.”

3:12 A.M.

He dreams of it—the wedding. The tuxes and the food and the people. It’s bigger in his dream, much more extravagant than in reality. Luxe and filled with silver and gold and wine. People are always laughing. They are always smiling. It is beautiful and amazing but there is always something _weird_ happening.

Connor is locked out in the rain but they say their vows through the glass in the door. There is opera music playing but nobody knows where it’s coming from but something tells him it is Tina that is singing, despite her silent presence saying otherwise. Hank is Sumo and Sumo is Hank.

In reality, he knows it was small. He knows it went by perfectly. He knows that there was barely anyone present and when it was over they laughed and parted their ways because they weren’t the type to have a big after party for such a small crowd—even if Connor was friends with the entire DPD, they wouldn’t have invited many others after Hank, Chris, and Tina.

It was small.

But in his dreams, it seems like there are thousands of people there for the two of them.

And Gavin knows that is what it felt like in the moment.

 

7:21 A.M.

Gavin steps out of the small room to the right, his eyes half shut and wrapped in a blanket that drags across the floor behind him. Connor knows him well enough to know that he will be heading to the coffee maker as soon as he can take control of his body and Gavin knows Connor well enough that a mug will be sitting on the table just seconds before he finally gets up from the mattress.

“You made breakfast?”

“Most important meal of the day,” Connor says quietly, keeping his eyes on the counter. He doesn’t know quite how to act. If the two of them should have spent last night going through a life altering change while Gavin slept and Connor pretended to shut down his processors for a replica of rest.

It is almost like when they first got together. A shift in their relationship. Something has transformed inside of him. When they first kissed, when they first slept together, when he moved in. Every single time he has felt the need to fold in on himself, figure out if his body has somehow changed with the new feelings in his chest.

But they are still Connor and Gavin.

It’s just that Connor is a _Reed_ now.

He laughs, and he doesn’t mean to laugh aloud but it comes out of him bubbling and weird and he can’t quite keep it down. It’s just so—

_Surreal._

Like the wedding never even happened. He knows Gavin kept waking up in the middle of the night and falling asleep again, muttering about cakes and Sumo.

He doesn’t feel any different, as if the change of his name (which isn’t even _official_ yet) should dictate a vastly different version of him this morning. Or that a new ring on his finger means he is someone else, _something_ else.

Connor supposes he is.

He’s a _husband_ now. A _spouse._ People will start to ask him why he doesn’t have kids soon, isn’t that what married couples do? And they haven’t discussed it, either. They likely should have. He knows how damaged a relationship can get when things as important as _children_ aren’t discussed properly.

And maybe he is feeling a little selfish, not wanting to. Like whatever answer he provides might cause them to break. And he’s worried about them breaking. He loves Gavin. Kids aren’t even important to him.

And yet he’s still laughing because he’s a _Reed_ now.

“What are laughing at?”

He shrugs, even though Gavin isn’t looking at him.

“I’m just happy,” he says, and it’s the truth. He has never been happier than he is right now.

Maybe he doesn’t feel different in an existential or personal sense, but he feels different otherwise. _Happier._

“You sure you’re not replaying those clips of Hank on the dance floor? Don’t think I know you wouldn’t have recorded them.”

He laughs again, because _yes,_ of course he had. They were amusing and entertaining and maybe no one else would understand the way it made him happy to see that Gavin and Hank had finally found a way to get along.

“I’d give it to you, but I know you’d use it for evil,” he replies as Gavin turns to look over his shoulder at him.

“Can’t you trust me?”

He pretends to consider this before shaking his head, “I’m not going to let half of the DPD turn Hank into the new laughing stock.”

“Because you like to have _me_ be the laughing stock, right?”

Connor smiles, but he doesn’t really get why Gavin is so embarrassed by the video anyways. He was just talking to some cats in a relatively high pitched voice. Nothing humiliating about that.

“I love you,” he says instead and he is returned with an eye roll as Gavin turns back towards the food set out on the table.

But he comes back a minute later, returning the words, pressing kisses to his jaw, pulling him down until the two of them are lost in each other for a little while.

 

8:51 A.M.

He is thinking about the two of them. When they first said they loved each other two years ago—how afterwards Gavin had whispered it a hundred times to Connor knowing he’d hear every one and hoping that Connor knew how much he meant it every single time.

_Winter has_ always been their season. It has always been intrinsically tied to the two of them. First kiss under a mistletoe, first _I love you_ passed between the two of them in the park, first present a pair of gloves Connor knitted himself. Terrible and falling apart but Gavin wore them until they were nothing but unraveled yarn looped around his fingers.

They set their wedding date in January because of it. There was no other possibility. It was unthinkable to marry in the summer, it was out of the question for spring. They needed winter. It created them, it shaped them—

If they could live in a winter wonderland forever, they probably would.

 

9:03 A.M.

“Are you ready?”

Gavin nods, standing up from the side of the couch and reaching for the scarf hanging on the hook. Connor steals it from him, faster to the hook than Gavin could be. He leans forward, looping it around his neck, pausing with his fingers on the ends.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey yourself.”

Connor tugs on the ends a little and Gavin takes a step forward, closer to him. Close enough that Connor could easily bend down and kiss him. And he wants to, but he wants one more second of this. The stage before. The look in Gavin’s eyes, the little smile.

He is fast at grabbing the scarf, but he is slow to kiss him and Gavin speaks before he can silence him.

“I’m the luckiest guy on earth, you know that, Con?”

“I don’t believe in luck,” he whispers. “Fortunate might be a better word.”

“Alright,” Gavin says, and his expression is making Connor’s heart melt—he’s sure the little pieces of his Thirium pump are disintegrating right now and he’d be okay with that.

Cause of death: Gavin.

Place of death: Gavin’s arms.

A perfectly acceptable fate.

“I am the most fortunate guy on Earth,” he says, and leans upwards to kiss Connor before he can make the first move, before Connor can try and correct him.

Because Gavin isn’t the most fortunate guy on Earth.

Connor is.

 

9:48 A.M.

Gavin, his darling, dearest, most beloved human in his entire life, is not good with directions and he refuses Connor’s help until a half an hour has passes for a drive that is meant to take five. He doesn’t even bother to try and correct him. If he attempts gentle nudges towards one street, Gavin will give him a glare as if he’s murdered a kitten. _Not worth it._

And, Gavin doesn’t get angry when he gets lost. He laughs. He makes jokes. It is amusing for him to laugh along with Gavin—with his _husband—_ about something as ridiculous as seeing the same tree three times. He thought when they first started to pass from enemies to acquaintances that Gavin would be a violent person.

_But he isn’t._

He’s not _misunderstood_ but he isn’t evil, either. He isn’t _cruel_. It has taken weeks and months and years for Gavin to learn that himself, but Connor has known all along. Soothing away nightmares and whispering reassurances and one by one undoing the bricks in the wall between them.

It isn’t easy convincing someone who is terrified of yelling and hitting that they are allowed to be upset about things.

“Is that it?” Gavin asks, pointing down the slope of the hill beneath them.

“Yes,” Connor replies, without having to look because the map is already laid out in his head. It has been this entire time. Knowing each individual turn that Gavin did wrong.

 

10:09 A.M.

“You’re an android, shouldn’t you be good at this?”

“Detective Reed,” Connor says, putting on his best impression of the Connor he was three years ago. “What makes you think a prototype android detective would have any use for _this?”_

Gavin scoffs and slides over to him, “You should at least have good balance.”

“You saw me dance last night,” he replies, reaching for Gavin’s hands to get pulled up from the ice. Gavin’s fingers are ice cold in his—the mittens lost in favor of being able to hold his hand—something that Connor both loves and hates about Gavin. Always putting his eagerness for affection before comfort. “Shouldn’t you know better?”

_One comfort traded for another,_ Gavin had said once. _A better comfort._

“You were quite good at the waltz.”

“Thank you.”

“Not so great at the ice skating. Can’t you look up tutorials on the internet and download it in your little brain?”

“Little brain?” Connor repeats, letting out a small laugh. He doesn’t bother trying to explain it, either. It isn’t that simple. But he leans over to Gavin and leaves a kiss against his temple, taking his hand tightly. “Teach me if you’re so good at this.”

“What, like I’m an expert?”

“At least you can stand straight.”

Gavin laughs and reaches out to his hands, helping steady him on the ice. “Just don’t overthink it, alright?”

Connor glances up at him, a silent look passed between them. They both know that Connor overthinks everything. He still has his LED, and it is still almost always yellow. He is constantly in the process of thought, taking in every detail about his surroundings. Never letting it go. It is too terrifying a thing—forgetting something important. The smile on Gavin’s face or the look in his eyes or even just how many trees surround them, how many kids are laughing and how many couples are skating gracefully across the frozen surface.

“Hey,” Gavin says, helping pull him a little closer, leaning back against the railing of the area to keep from falling. “Humans aren’t born with the ability to ice skate, alright? You don’t have to be perfect at it your first try.”

“Gavin—”

“You were a terrible kisser when we first met,” he goes on, smiling and biting his lip in some attempt to hold it back. He’s failing. “Now you’re great.”

“Yes,” Connor replies, heaving out a sigh. “You taught me everything I know.”

“And now you’re fantastic at it.”

“Second to you and you alone.”

“Exactly,” he says, and it comes out as a tiny whisper as he leans forward, kissing him slowly, tenderly.

It isn’t really helping, the two of them standing here like this. But Connor knows how cold it is outside. He knows how comforting the warmth of his body is to a human. His biocomponents can withstand the low temperature, but they are grateful for Gavin’s body heat just as much as Gavin is probably grateful for his.

“I thought you were going to teach me how to skate,” Connor says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as quiet as it does. It just does. Like he wishes it was just the two of them here.

“Right. Of course.”

Gavin does his best to help him. Giving him any tips that he can think of, trying to get Connor to mimic his movements, but it’s useless and hopeless. They spend the majority of their time skating with Gavin pulling him along, holding on tight in the fear of falling.

 

11:22 A.M.

He doesn’t drive on the way back. He leaves that for Connor to do. He doesn’t want to get lost again, and he likes sitting in the passenger seat and watching him.

_His husband._

Who was once his fiancé and once his boyfriend and once his coworker.

But _his._

Connor still has the blush on his cheeks. More present than it has been in a while. A soft swath of color across his features. It’s distracting to look at.

He doesn’t remember seeing it like this since they first started dating. The not-quite-comfortable relationship they had going. The getting to know each other. The tentative nature of their hands holding and carefully chosen words.

And now he can tell Connor anything. He can say that he loves Connor a hundred times within the span of five minutes and he will get smiles and giggles and it said each and every time in return. He doesn’t worry about Connor pretending anymore, but he remembers months and months worrying and agonizing over whether or not Connor really cared or if this was just for fun.

A little experiment to see what could happen.

He reaches towards his hand, twisting the ring around his finger.

_His husband._

_Real_. They are _real_.

 

12:46 P.M.

He turns the page of the book slowly, not really reading the words. He can’t pay attention to them. He’s too busy thinking of Gavin. The hand on his waist and the laughter and the really shitty tips he was given on skating better.

“You’re smiling. Is your book funny?”

Connor blinks, looking down at the pages. _No._ It’s not funny at all.

“It’s not the book,” he says, looking up to Gavin’s face. The stupidity of it. The annoying way he smiles, his inability to wink, the absolute absurdity of his eye color. He can never figure out what it is. It bothers him. Like as an android he should be able to understand exactly _what_ that color is. Maybe it just doesn’t exist. Not something the human, or android, eye can see.

“What is it then?”

Connor sighs, a little annoyed, a little bit just to keep the smile from forming on his face. “You, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” he says, and he closes the book, leaning forward across the table.

They’ve chosen to eat at the little restaurant in the area. Gavin should be eating something healthier, something actually made for lunch, but instead he has a stack of waffles on his plate. Half eaten and drowned in syrup and he knows when he goes to kiss him he’ll be able to analyze just how much sugar is in it. More than any human should have in a day.

And he’ll wish he was human. So he could taste the sweetness of his lips. He thinks about that maybe more than anything. The little things he misses out on. He knows Gavin is warm when they lay beside each other. He knows when his internal temperature goes up. But he doesn’t _experience_ the warmth. It’s not the same.

“You have anything specific about me?” he asks.

“Just that I love you,” he says, and he reaches forward to brush Gavin’s lower lip with his thumb. Pretend it’s a crumb or something. He just wants to touch him sometimes. Remind himself that Gavin is here. “And I’m very happy and very lucky to have you as my husband.”

“Nah,” he says, grasping at Connor’s hand before he can pull away. He presses a kiss against his fingertips. “You’ve got that twisted. I’m the lucky one. Thought you didn’t believe in luck anyways?”

“I don’t—”

“See?” he says. “That makes me the lucky one.”

He leans against his hand, watching Gavin in the noise of the restaurant. People laughing and talking, filling the space with words and jokes. He smiles, content to have this. This moment in which they can be together, out in public without worrying about anything. He knows it wasn’t always like this. He knows even now android and human relationships are still frowned upon.

But he has it.

And he thinks he loves that more than anything else.

 

2:03 P.M.

They walk down the path together, the snow crunching underneath their feet. Compacting into an even layer behind them. He glances back sometimes, just to see how their footprints look side by side. He’s done it since they first got together. Like he needs the evidence that this isn’t all in his head. It seems to good to be true sometimes.

And he’s certain Connor is getting tired of him constantly pulling him down to kiss him. Again and again because their lips together, the feeling of that, the feeling of a hand on his waist, it reminds him that it’s real. He can’t make it up.

 

2:34 P.M.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Connor says, shaking his head. Gavin is like a child sometimes.

“Why not?”

“It’s…” he trails off. “Unsanitary.”

Gavin sticks his tongue out at him. _Child._ Thirty-eight years old and still a complete child. But Connor prefers him like this. Grinning and turning his head up to the sky, catching snowflakes on his tongue like he’s a professional in this sport.

“I like you like this,” he says, and the words kind of spill out of him. Not entirely false but he hadn’t meant to say them, either.

“Like what?”

He shrugs, “Happy.”

Gavin’s smile grows a little bigger, almost like he was expecting a joke response. And Connor could have given him one. He always has them ready now. He is always prepared to make Gavin laugh. He likes the sound of it. He likes the thought that something he said brought joy to him.

And he likes the feeling of it. When it’s late at night and they should be sleeping and Gavin has his face turned against his neck and he starts laughing at something stupid, smothering it into his skin. It feels like it’s his. Something he’s caught and kept hidden for himself.

“Good,” Gavin says, and he takes a few steps over, reaches out to hold onto him. He stretches upwards, pressing kisses along his jaw between each of his words. “Because you make me happy, and you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“I don’t want to.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He just leans down and kisses Gavin. Holding him still to make sure that every ounce of affection and love he feels can translate as best as he can manage. And he’s so happy that they’re together. That they’ve moved past hating each other, past pretending they didn’t like each other, past tiptoeing around the word _love._ How else could he show how much he appreciates and cares for Gavin when words fail him?

 

4:15 P.M.

“I refuse to believe you have never done this before. You’re too good at it.”

“Too _good_ at it? It’s fairly easy.”

Gavin glances up at him, “Yeah? People go their whole lives fucking it up.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“What—No. Fuck off.”

Connor smiles, but he does step away, reaching towards the edge of the tree line to pick up two branches, holding them out to Gavin so he can stab them angrily into the sides of the snowman. It’s a little bit lopsided, but mostly symmetrical.

“You broke the arm,” Connor says, watching part of the twig snap off in Gavin’s grip and hit the ground.

Gavin looks up, glaring at him, “Yeah?”

“You should probably not be so violent with him. He’s just a snowman after all.”

Gavin stands up, looking between Connor and the snowman a few times before he reaches out to give a little pat to the top of it’s head.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize snow was sentient. My deepest condolences. I didn’t mean to break your arm.”

“Good apology.”

He shrugs, looking back to Connor, taking a small step towards him, “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s alright. I know you were just joking.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Gavin, it’s really alright.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“And what if I apologized for something else?”

“Like what?”

Gavin creeps forward, stands close enough that Connor thinks he might kiss him. One movement forward and their lips would meet.

And then he feels the scarf around his neck disappear, Gavin stepping backwards quickly, wrapping it around the snowman while Connor’s hand is left hanging against the bare skin of his neck.

“Thief,” Connor mutters.

“Sorry,” Gavin says. “But the snowman is cold.”

“Do I get it back when he’s melted?”

“No. We won’t be here then. And you have me to keep you warm.”

Connor smiles at the thought of it. Having Gavin beside him, in his arms, holding onto him tightly. Gavin has always been clingy. Always had his arms looped around his neck or his waist. Always had his head leaned against his shoulder or curled up against his neck. Their hands are almost always intertwined, their lips are constantly meeting because even after three years of knowing him all he wants to do is kiss him.

“Can you come over here and do it then?”

Gavin glances over to him, smiles a little bit and steps back to Connor’s side, wrapping his arm around his waist, leaning in close.

No. Connor can’t experience warmth in the same sense the humans do. He knows his temperature is rising from being in contact with another body. He knows that technically, it is making him warmer. He knows the feeling of a human this close to him. But it isn’t the same.

But he feels warmth in a different way. Spreading through him and appearing as a smile on his face, as a kiss pressed against Gavin’s forehead. A knowing that they will be together for a very, very long time.

 

5:12 P.M.

The snow blankets the area, shimmering in the light of the sun like a thousand diamonds. The trees are dead and bare of their leaves, the snow unbroken in it’s neat layer. It’s magical. It looks perfect. The sun sets slowly on the other side, the light shifting along with it. Street lamps behind them turn on, creating a dim orange glow, casting their stretched out shadows across the ground. It feels so fundamentally like winter. So perfectly them.

He turns deeper against Connor’s chest, letting his eyes close for a moment. Relish in the moment. The quiet and the snow and the peaceful nature of today. A good honeymoon. Exactly what he wanted. Laughing and smiling and kissing and just being _together_.

_Happiness—_ something he thought he might never get again. And now he has it. And he’s going to hold on to it as tightly as he can.

 

6:32 P.M.

Connor’s head is turned, watching the snow fall freshly again out the window. Covering the tracks on the sidewalk up to the restaurant again. They’re sitting at a different booth this time. On opposite sides. Gavin watches Connor watch the snow, his fingers twisting the ring around his finger again and again.

Ever since Gavin gave it to him, he’s started twisting it around and around. He still carries his coin with him. Sometimes Gavin spots it resting on a counter, but it isn’t his nervous habit anymore. It isn’t the thing he turns to when he’s trying to occupy his mind or when he’s just mindlessly messing with something.

“You look good,” Gavin says, leaning forward on his hand. “With the ring. I like it.”

Connor looks away from the window towards him, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Every time…” he trails off, looks to the table instead of Gavin’s face. “Every time I touch it I remember that you’re my husband now. I like it. I… It’s nice. To think of you as mine.”

He nods, because he likes it, too. He likes knowing that someone wants him. That he belongs to someone.

“Yeah,” Gavin says, nodding again. “I’m yours. And you’re mine. Never forget it. It’s legally binding now.”

 

7:18 P.M.

It’s not really a club or a bar, but it has a dance floor and it plays upbeat music. Connor watches Gavin from his safe perch against the wall as he dances to a song, constantly looking towards him, trying to drag him out onto the dance floor.

“No,” he says, pulling his hands free for the third time. “You saw me at the wedding. I was awful.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You were mediocre.”

“I don’t want to dance.”

“No?” Gavin says, catching his hands again, tugging him away from the wall a little bit. “But you won’t get better unless you practice.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t _want_ to practice.”

“No? You don’t want to dance with me?” he softens his features, pouts his lips, turns his head to the side. His best puppy-dog impression.

Sometimes, Gavin is impossible to say no to.

“Okay,” Connor says, letting Gavin pull him away from the wall. “But if you laugh, even once, I’m filing for divorce.”

“Alright,” he replies. “No laughing.”

But he does laugh. After a few minutes, when the song switches to something slower, when he can bury his face against Connor’s neck. A tiny little thing muffled against his skin.

And God, Connor is just _so happy_ it _hurts._ The entire day has been too much. Too much smiling and too much laughing. He likes it. He likes all the memories he is getting. Filing away to think about again when he falls asleep. He hopes they reappear as dreams. Over and over again. If he could be trapped in just one day, he’d want it to be this one.

 

9:32 P.M.

They step into the cabin, shedding their coats and their snow-slick shoes and heading in unison towards the bathroom. Gavin is reluctant to drop his clothes to the ground and brace the cold air of the cabin, but he does anyways. The sound of the tub filling up behind him, the feel of the steam as it muddles the air.

He settles into the bath with Connor behind him. The water hot and welcoming as it soothes away some of the aches in his bones, smoothing away some of the cold from the day spent outside.

He could fall asleep here, in Connor’s arms. His eyes want to close. He wants to settle back, turn over as if he was in a bed instead of a tub. Let the world of dreams wrap their arms around him and take him in. Something soft and comforting.

But he stays awake. Feels Connor’s hands as they comb through his hair with shampoo and conditioner, as they pass over his skin slowly, helping scrub away the day.

And when they get out, when Connor helps dry him off, pull him close for kisses when they’re separated only by a towel wrapped around their waists, he is reminded that he has a couple more days of this. The two of them in this cabin all by themselves. No one to bother them.

A perfect isolation.

 

10:03 P.M.

They trade their towels for sweaters and fuzzy socks. Gavin takes the pillows and blankets, creating a nest in front of the fire as Connor leans across the fireplace with the matches. It lights slowly, consuming the logs slowly, crackling a few yards away.

He leans back against Gavin, feeling his arms circle around his waist.

“A couple of days isn’t enough,” he murmurs.

Connor closes his eyes, nodding a little.

It isn’t. They need weeks. Months. Years. Just existing in a tiny cabin. It’s a nice fantasy—quitting their jobs and living out here. He will allow himself to indulge on it, even if it would likely never be possible.

He can imagine all the sweaters they’d wear in the winter. Blues and reds, passed back and forth between them because they always want the comfort of the other. Or in the fall with Gavin outside chopping down trees to get wood to store for the winter. In the summer, when they could be out in the lake splashing water back and forth at each other.

A couple of days isn’t enough. He wants a lifetime.

 

11:49 P.M.

He is incredibly happy here, laying beside Connor, watching the fire. It creeps up on him sometimes. He’ll go an entire day smiling and laughing and then as it starts to wind down he finds that the smile still lingers despite the utter quiet of the room.

And it always leads back to one thing:

How completely grateful he is. How lucky he is. How fortunate his life has turned out to be.

How many years had he gone lonely and exhausted and upset? How many years had he had a numbness in his chest, unfeeling and empty? He has Tina, he has his cats. They were the only good parts. He didn’t have much else.

He was angry and violent and spent nights crying and trying to shove the nightmares away and just feeling the crushing weight of not being good enough and the pressure of how his future was going to turn out.

Gavin could picture it so clearly. Empty and boring and bland. No one to love him. Tina would eventually leave his side. The cats would eventually die. He’d be on his own. Spending his nights drinking and watching shitty television.

And then Connor came along. Stumbling into his life like a wild animal. Crashing through the bushes, robotic and wrong.

He can remember how he got here. Their first kiss under some mistletoe. Their first date at a coffee shop. The first time they said they loved each other in the middle of that snowy park. The ice between them melted more and more.

But he doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t know how the harsh pieces of him fell away and the sharpness was dulled down and how he was able to slowly forgive himself for all the shitty things he’s done—especially to Connor.

But he’s here now.

And he is grateful. Lucky. _Fortunate_.

“Gavin,” Connor whispers. “Are you crying?”

_His boyfriend. His fiancé. His husband._

His.

Connor is _his_.

“I’m overwhelmed,” he whispers.

“With what?”

“How much I love you,” he turns so he can kiss Connor, but he stops before he quite gets there, because he needs to say more first. “You’re incredible. The best person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to think of who I’d be right now if you weren’t in my life.”

Connor reaches up a hand and brushes his tears away, “Gavin—”

“I’m okay,” he says, and he smiles because he needs Connor to know it’s the truth. “I just—”

“Love me?”

“Yeah,” he laughs a little, weak and small. “A lot.”

“You know I love you, too?” Connor asks. “A _lot.”_

“Fuck,” Gavin replies. “And here I thought the wedding was one sided.”

He watches Connor’s lips quirk into a smile but it only lasts for a second before it drops again, “Don’t forget it, okay? I don’t want you to forget that.”

“I won’t,” he says, and he repeats it again as he leans down, quieting it against Connor’s throat as he leaves a kiss there, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. He makes Connor wait for the last one. The one against his lips that will cause Connor’s arms to circle around his neck and pull him down amongst the blankets and pillows sprawled across the ground.

He had lived his life thinking he’d end up alone. Friendless and unlovable. Alone. Unhappy. He kept living because he gave himself one tiny shred of happiness. A sliver of an idea. The possibility that he was wrong. That he might be happy. That he might find love.

He never expected the day to actually arrive.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu on my tumblr](https://norchloe.tumblr.com/) | music;  
> fallen - gert taberner


End file.
